


No Shit, Sherlock

by Ranger_Online



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute!Lock, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Hurtlock, M/M, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock Imagine, Slight fluff, loving sherlock's lips basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5078356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranger_Online/pseuds/Ranger_Online
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>221B is empty except you and Sherlock, and someone's got to look after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Shit, Sherlock

"OUCH! Would you mind being a bit more gentle?"

You frown and keep dabbing at the blood on his scowling face. He jerks slightly as you dab a bit too hard at some dried blood.

"Is this the part where I obviously state that you’re angry?"

You huff and throw the now blood-stained cloth into his lap and turn away. It is in the early hours of the morning, and besides the two of you, 221B is empty. Sherlock Holmes is sitting in his chair, almost immaculate in his cleanly pressed suit - bar the splatter of blood across his face. It looks pretty clear to you (obvious even if you weren’t a young med student) that someone had broken his nose twice, possibly cracked his jaw, though it seems unlikely; his face was bruised blue and black, and blood was continuing to dry on his cheeks. And judging by the fingertip pattern starting to bruise on his normally beautiful pale neck, that someone had also tried to strangle him.

Funnily enough, that’s exactly what you want to do.

He catches the cloth and presses it to his nose, dabbing at the faint red streaks. He stares quizzically, almost owlishly at you.

"You’re definitely angry."

You roll your eyes at his amused tone and smirk, standing angrily. “No shit, Sherlock!”

Sherlock blinks, and his voice loses its jovial tone, annoyingly curious. “And upset.”

You turn to glare at him. Part of you knows it is irrational to get worked up when he is - supposedly - fine, but the other part just tells the first to shut up. “Since when did you start to state the obvious, Mr Deduce-A-Lot? Have you also got a bloody concussion?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow and he gets to his feet. His icy eyes latch onto yours, the bruised blood cells underneath his skin blossoming. “I am perfectly fine.”

You scoff and cross your arms, but a second later when he sways on his feet your face softens. “No, you’re not,” you murmur. You gently take his elbow and try to make him sit again. Sherlock keeps his ground.

"Sherlock Holmes," you say firmly but quietly. "Sit down this instant or I’ll force you to."

Something glints in his eyes. “Force me?” He mocks. He pretends to play with the skull on mantelpiece as he regains his balance. You aren’t fooled. “I’d like to see you try to force me to do anything I didn’t want to -“

So, telling yourself that it is the only thing he’d least expect, you gingerly lean forward, clutch his collar and press your lips to his. It is a swift kiss; over in a moment of warm lips and Sherlock’s wide, open eyes.

He doesn’t even blink when you pull back. He stands still, exactly the same way he stood moments before. The ice man is frozen.

You feel your face burn. “Right,” you mutter. This time when you grab his arm, he sits back down willingly. The blood has been cleaned off, and there is a little more colour to his cheeks now. You stand there for a moment, quietly half regretting what you did and half revelling in doing what you’d been thinking about for months and also feeling the insane urge to laugh at his reaction. Sherlock is in his chair, practically in shock.

“Right,” you repeat. Again, the urge to giggle bubbles up in you at the catatonic look on his face. You poke his cheek. At a loss for words, you say; “Well, at least now I know how to surprise the famous Mr Holmes.”

He still doesn’t move for a second. You’re just starting to feel a bit worried when he finally blinks. “If you keep kissing me it’ll soon cease to be surprising.”

This time you freeze. “Uh …” you say. You wish you had some witty retort up your sleeve, but you can’t think of anything else to say. Your sudden mind blank annoys you, but you're used to the reaction - what with being around Sherlock and all. “Okay. Yeah. Um. I’ll uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

You turn to leave. You’ve finally come to your senses - thinking ‘he’ll be fine, just a bruised eye and a sore ego' - and you know you've just done something completely idiotic, it's Sherlock for Christ's sake and what did you think would happen -

But before you can even fully turn away, Sherlock whips out a slender hand to grasp your forearm. At the contact you both pause. “Y/n … stay.”

You look back at the consulting detective curiously. Tired and wary, you go for honesty - though your face is still warm, your lips still tingling. “Stay? Why on earth would you want me to stay after I just -?”

Sherlock clears his throat and his hand slides down to hesitantly intertwine with your fingers. His awkwardness is endearing. “Because … because I could have a possible concussion and seeing as John is currently asleep, you need to watch me and make sure I don’t die.”

You blink, but Sherlock’s hand cupped around yours - a bit sweaty and warm - makes you hesitate (despite every other part of your brain stuttering, the med student in you instantly notes that he’d been running about in the rain, so it was probably fever). You smile gently. “Okay then. But,” you add as you perch on the arm of Sherlock’s prized chair, “if you do end up dying, I can’t be held responsible, because 1) I told you that galavanting about the dark alleyways of London at night was a bad idea, 2) especially since you were alone and looking for a gang of suspected ceremonial murderers, and 3) it’s absolutely pouring outside -”

Sherlock’s plump Cupid’s bow was just turning into the ghost of a grin when he pulls you down into his lap and kisses you.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still laughing at the title tbh
> 
> (constructive/weird/funny comments will make me grin like crazy and are greatly appreciated!)


End file.
